


Languish

by anonymousgratification



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 03:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17779535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousgratification/pseuds/anonymousgratification
Summary: Damian's having a difficult time with what exactly his feelings are toward his mentor.





	Languish

“Grayson?” Damian asks, to confirm whether or not he's conscious. Damian wants to tell him to not sleep out in the living space, to get up and go to his own courters. It’s uncivil. 

Grayson doesn’t answer, just breathes, deeply. Damian’s eyes travel down to his chest from his face, watching the way it moves up and down—breathing—alive.

Grayson’s an idiot. An imbecile. _Grayson’s an idiot._ He centers back on it. 

Damian allows his eyes to move back up, to Grayson’s face. _A mistake._ Staring at Grayson now, while he’s asleep, is useless. Futile. It won’t do anything, change anything; won’t make anything happen. But, he can’t will himself to look away. 

Damian swallows. Inhales and exhales slowly. His eyes roam over Grayson's face; his closed eyes, his eyelashes, the relaxed expression. Damian’s gaze journeys down the curve of his nose.  He settles on his lips. 

He knows he shouldn’t. 

He feels ashamed, just looking, just watching Grayson’s lips, parted as he breathes; the faint sound of his sleep filling the room. 

But he does. 

He feels extremely embarrassed, no— both embarrassed and guilty, just looking. Because that’s not what it is. He’s not just looking. He’s thinking; thinking about how they look so perfect, and how they move when Grayson speaks, his voice balmy and fluid.

Grayson’s lips look soft, as if they’d feel like petals, like silk against his. 

_How poetic._ Damian scolds himself inside his head. It’s just Grayson. Stupid, idiotic, imbecilic _Grayson_. 

Damian still can’t look away, from Grayson’s face, unguarded in front of him. Grayson’s completely vulnerable. Damian could do anything right now, but Grayson trusts him not to. He wouldn’t; he could never act in such a way to Grayson, but, Grayson… 

_He trusts him_. Completely, entirely. Damian, who could prey on him, feel his blood in his hands. 

Damian doesn’t want to, hasn’t felt that sensation in years. Sometimes he dreams, dreams that dredge up the old world he used to exist in; the commands, the victory. But it fades into the dark as his eyes flutter open.

But Grayson… knows that. Knows the way he’s trained, the way he’ll never be able to undo that part of himself.

Damian knows he'll always be dangerous and callous; that he'll never rid himself of that person inside he wishes to annihilate. But Grayson still, _still_ trusts and loves him, regardless.

Damian bites his lower lip, ignoring the part of his mind that wonder what Grayson's feels like. 

Damian reaches his hand up to brush hair out of Grayson’s face before he’s aware of his own actions and it’s too late to recoil. He runs his fingers through the locks gently, fingertips feeling his skin. He brushes—barely touching, just ghosting— his face, down the side of his jaw. Grayson’s hair is soft, and the skin under it feels—

Damian pulls his hand away, hasty. _What is he doing?_

Dick is stuck somewhere between awake and asleep, body tired but he can still hear, can still feel. He heard Damian call his name, and feels Damian's hand on him. He wants to open his eyes, wants to grab Damian’s wrist to either chide or tease him, but he can’t move. Maybe he’s more asleep than he thinks, but his mind is awake. Or maybe it _is_ a dream, this way Damian is being; so tender and affectionate. 

Dick feels the way Damian's body jolts when he pulls away. He can roughly tell Damian's position; Damian's sitting in front of him, on the floor, while he lies over the couch. He's curious about Damian’s unfiltered behavior, with his hands that he never thought would touch anyone, _him_ , so gentle.

Damian’s silent for a moment. Dick wonders what he’s doing. He considers opening his eyes to check, but he’s curious to see what will happen if he doesn’t. 

“Grayson…” Damian speaks again, but his voice sounds pained. He sounds like he’s suffering. Dick really considers opening his eyes now, but Damian touches him, fingers caressing his, that ghost of a touch again. He fiddles his fingers around Dick’s, like he wants to hold his hand but doesn’t know how, or can’t quite decide; can't quite muster the nerve. Damian pulls away again, anxiously. He’s uncertain in his actions, that Dick can tell, but not much else. 

Grayson’s fingers are heated from his slumber. Damian wants to hold his hand while he sleeps, wants to grips his fingers tightly around his. He feels embarrassed again, for this inane cluster of thoughts he’s having. He’s so confused— _worked up_ —just over Grayson falling asleep in front of him. 

Damian’s blushing, he knows. He’s glad Grayson isn’t awake, worried that he might open his eyes any second. What would he think if he saw Damian’s hand touching his, face flushed and contrite?

Damian parts his own mouth to breathe. Suddenly it feels a little harder. Damian thinks he may be just as vulnerable as Grayson right now, who’s asleep and defenseless in front of him. He professes to this unconscious, unperturbed Grayson. 

“I really like you.” It’s in a foreign tongue, one he knows—hopes—Grayson doesn’t. It comes out naturally, the language intimate to him like the words falling out of his mouth.

Dick doesn’t know what he said, but Damian’s voice is in agony over the weight of whatever it is. 

Damian is going to leave— he has to. He can’t be caught staring at Grayson while he sleeps, like a creep, a stalker, a _pervert._ Damian’s thoughts aren’t dirty, but to him it feels impure, the fact that he desires Grayson at all. 

Damian wants to kiss him, not on the mouth, but on his forehead or his cheek, like Grayson always does to him. _To ward away bad dreams,_ Grayson claims, or sometimes it’s _because I love you._ Damian doesn’t know what he believes, but he wants Grayson to feel it too; the warmth that pervades his body. Damian leans in to do so, mind and head spinning, but he pulls away before he can make contact.

_Idiot._ The word is in his head again, but this time, it’s for himself. He stands up, not looking back at Grayson, his face burning.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentines Day. Just something I wrote about Damian being a little lovesick over Dick Grayson.  
> (aren't we all)
> 
> xo


End file.
